


A Moment In Time

by eobarry



Category: The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 13:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18829681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eobarry/pseuds/eobarry
Summary: He’s beautiful like this. Sweet pink dancing across the apples of his cheeks, chin tilted downward just so in bashfulness, his hair haloed in the dying light. He’s beautiful and perfect and Eobard can’t help but stare, cradled over Barry with one hand ever so faintly sliding under the edge of his STAR Labs sweatshirt.





	A Moment In Time

**Author's Note:**

> I'm reviving eobarry and there is nothing you can do about it.
> 
> Truth be told it's more an exercise in purple prose than anything else, but hey, it was fun to write. 
> 
> Unedited, apologies for mistakes.

He’s beautiful like this. Sweet pink dancing across the apples of his cheeks, chin tilted downward just so in bashfulness, his hair haloed in the dying light. He’s beautiful and perfect and Eobard can’t help but stare, cradled over Barry with one hand ever so faintly sliding under the edge of his STAR Labs sweatshirt, tips of fingers ghosting along the smallest sliver of exposed skin, Barry’s breath staccato and too loud in the quiet of the room. His hummingbird heart flutters against his ribs and Eobard can feel his dancing pulse, too fast even for a young speedster.

Eobard leans down to capture him in that first kiss – or is it the hundredth? – soft and delicate and so full of absolute adoration, because Barry will always be his greatest achievement, his first love, his entire world. He savors the kiss and the small noises Barry makes, almost whimpers but truly just catches of his breath whenever Eobard catches Barry’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, light and teasing, or when he finally slides his tongue into the eagerness of Barry’s mouth and his shoulders sink into the cloud of the mattress, and he lets Eobard take and take and take – whatever he wants, slow and steady for all the time in the world. Barry gasps into the kisses, like Eobard is breathing life into him, creating and destroying at the same time, as Barry’s edges blur into the speed force before Eobard has even touched him properly. All he’s done is pulse all of his passion into a kiss, arched over Barry like he’s hiding him from the rest of the world, encircling him in a microcosm of need.

When they finally break apart it’s with a cry on Barry’s end and a sigh on Eobard’s, like relief, like he’s finally found the one thing he has always been searching for. Eobard can’t stop, kisses Barry sweet and chaste before he’s tracing the high points of his face with his lips, those cheekbones, his jaw, trailing feather light kisses over every high point of his face. He delicately tilts Barry’s chin with careful hands so he can gently nip at the junction of jaw and neck, Barry whimpering above him, and Eobard tastes sweat and speed force and Barry, always Barry, always everything he’s ever wanted. He presses himself flush to Barry now, as if melting together, and Eobard trails kisses down the other’s neck, languid and lazy, until sucking a mark at the junction of collar and neck that makes Barry moan, and it’s the sweetest noise Eobard has ever heard. He could spend all day like this, kissing all over just Barry’s neck, his jaw, his lips, drawing those sweet moans out of his lips, bringing even more of a scarlet blush to Barry’s face. But Eobard has so much more to explore, so his fingers dip under Barry’s sweatshirt once again, a ghostly, whispering touch that has Barry’s muscles twitching under Eobard’s fingertips, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

Eobard still takes his time, no matter how desperate he may seem, no matter how fast his own pulse races in return. He cherishes the chill he soaks into Barry’s skin, every too-hot brush of his fingers against Barry’s stomach, his chest, as Eobard closely drags Barry’s sweatshirt up, up, until Barry obliges him and strips it off, blushing like a schoolgirl. Eobard grins at him, that teasing smirk he knows makes Barry’s heart skip a beat, before he’s back to work.

He takes every care kissing down his neck, over his collar, Barry’s hands sliding into his hair and tugging gently when Eobard sucks a mark into his skin. Here, like this, he can feel the catch in Barry’s throat as much as he can hear it, can feel the heat radiating off of him, smells speed force and ozone and Barry, everything he’s ever needed. Like this, Barry’s _his_ , and Eobard intends to let him know that, kissing a steady stream of marks down his neck and chest, until he’s laving over a nipple and Barry arches into his mouth with a gasp, a cry of “Eo!” so desperate, so wanting. It sends a shiver through Eobard, and he tugs gentle with his teeth just to hear Barry keen, to watch and he blurs around the edges.

Eobard can’t spend long there, though. There’s so much more of Barry to explore, so much more he needs, so he kisses down his stomach, cherishing the way the muscles there twitch under his mouth as he kisses soft at each freckle, with such devotion that it makes Barry whimper soft, desperately tugging at Eobard’s hair to get him lower. Eobard resists it, refuses to rush this moment any more than he has to. Eobard even looks up to level Barry with a stare when he finally reaches his waistband, Eobard’s eyes half lidded as he tugs at the elastic on Barry’s sweatpants with his teeth.

The look on Barry’s face is beautiful, his mouth slightly open, pupils blown with desire, a light sheen on sweat over his features, reflecting the dying light in the most beautiful of ways, bathing him in gold. Eobard stops teasing and raises his hands to slide Barry’s sweats the rest of the way off. He momentarily leaves his boxer briefs where they are, if only so he can mouth over the bulge in them, so he can see Barry arch again, hear the beautiful noises he makes as he tugs Eobard’s hair and begs him to _hurry up_. That’s typical of Barry, always rushing forward, impatient, unplanned. He’s so young, so desperate, and it’s endearing enough that Eobard almost, almost indulges him.

But he has other plans, more important plans that he knows Barry will enjoy more than this. So he slides off his boxer briefs, kissing along Barry’s hip as he does, even while Barry begs him, presses against him urgently. Eobard ignore everything except for how full it makes his heart as he reaches for the lube and finds it easily, slicks his fingers and presses one against Barry to make him gasp, make him stutter and lose his train of thought. The look on Barry’s face is perfect, it’s ethereal as Eobard presses in just as he licks along Barry’s length, feeling the weight on his tongue, the way Barry twitches against him and cries out soft, his body shaking apart at the seams when Eobard finds the spot that makes Barry lose himself so, so easily.

Eobard loses himself in this, in his mouth around Barry Allen, his fingers slowly opening him, Barry begging each time for more of Eobard, for everything he has to offer. And Eobard will give it to him. Slowly, meticulously, and with care, however he wants it. But Barry will have to wait, will have to endure the gentle torture Eobard provides him, until Barry’s slick and open, and waiting for him.

When Eobard finally wraps Barry’s legs around his waist, when he finally crawls over this beautiful man to kiss over the marks along his neck, it’s clear to see that Barry has been crying, sobbing with need. Eobard kisses his tears away gentle as he slides in, and Barry’s eyelids close as he moans so sweet, shakes so gentle in Eobard’s arms. It’s so, so difficult for even Eobard to control himself at this sight, at Barry Allen so beside himself with pleasure at something so simple. But he manages, because he needs this to be perfect.

He rocks into Barry slow, picking up the pace as Barry presses back in return, Barry’s nails digging into his back, tugging Eobard’s hair to urge him further, faster. Eobard can’t hold back his own noises when Barry arches for him, when he cries out Eobard’s name over and over like a mantra. The pleasure builds to the point when Eobard is slamming into Barry, the bed creaking, Barry clutching to Eobard for dear life with his head thrown back, a perfect canvas for Eobard to mark up as Barry’s voice hitches higher, as his speed force licks at Eobard, his own lightning returning the favor as they blur into each other as Barry crests over the edge, spilling over his own chest, Eobard’s crying out his name with a sound of such devotion and pleasure –

Eobard Thawne wakes in a cold sweat, his bedsheets tangled around his legs, his broken speed force absently sparking across his skin.

Another nightmare.  


End file.
